


Hybristophilia

by DoubtingRabbit



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Acid Play, Asexual!Joker, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Crazy cartoon clown bondage, Erotic Electrostimulation, F/M, Gun Violence, Hold-up, Humiliation, Hybristophilia, Knifeplay, Masochism, Never Explain the Joke to the Joker, Non-Penetrative Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character Death(s), Penis In Vagina Sex, Rope Bondage, S&M, Sadism, Tags Subject to Change, Wax Play, Weird Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubtingRabbit/pseuds/DoubtingRabbit
Summary: Harley knows just what to do to get just what she wants. (Tags tell it like it is.)





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlitheFool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlitheFool/gifts).



> Big thanks to @BlitheFool for being the only other person I know that will support me in my insanity, and also to my husband for beta-ing and putting up with my old school OTP because (and I quote) "at least you don't ship BatJokes." Y'alls support is appreciated. ♥

Things had gotten boring recently, and Harley knew that led nowhere good for neither her nor for Mistah J. He had such a sharp and brilliant mind that even  _ she  _ couldn't keep up sometimes--and with a doctorate, too! Even if she hadn't exactly gotten her sheepskin on the up-and-up, she had put up with plenty for it--and he'd spin off into unwitting self-destruction out of sheer ennui. He needed distraction and plenty of it, and with her around, Harley made damn sure that he never lacked with plenty of diversions on hand, whether that meant plans or jokes or just idle talk of torturing the Batman.

When the Joker set to toying testily with the team they'd only just recruited in the last week or so she felt the need to distract him. Harley had spent an awful lot of time away from her Puddin' to track down and hire after he'd wiped out the last collection of goons.

And so, Harley put on her best suit, did up her makeup to perfect, and played Mistah J's Girl Friday just like she knew how, and maybe threw her hips around the way that always seemed to catch his yellowed eyes a little bit extra. Yet after dangling so many different ideas for mayhem before her Puddin', everything from petty crimes for kicks to loading up the van with some of their Big Boom toys and painting Gotham in flames… nothing. Bupkis. Ugh!

The light of her life still insisted on trying his new routines on the kinds of idiots who thought it was worth it to get involved with The Joker, and none of the goons were half aware of how near they were to death, um-ing and uh-ing over his bits with scattered bits of laughter.

Time to cut in, then.

"Puuuuudding'..." she mewed in a pitch she knew would catch his ear (it'd catch the ear of most dogs, honestly), and was pleased with herself when she saw him wince mid-joke. 

"What?!"

Another good sign, not refusing the nickname she'd so lovingly given him years ago. Time to turn up the heat. Harley cartwheeled over on her hands and pouted. "I'm  _ bored _ , Puddin'..."

"So make yourself useful," he snorted and tossed his head towards a pile of cash that lounged in the corner.

"Aw, c'mon, pay a little attention to your best girl," she hiccuped, kicking aside a few stray towers of leafy green with a  _ fwoosh!  _ as she traipsed to the side of the stage he'd made up for himself out of old milk crates. Landing flat at his feet with a pratfall anyone could be proud of, her baby blues flashed up at him and saw the frown she was waiting for…

" _ Puddin' _ ."

A heavy sigh left the Joker and Harley felt something in her core run cold the moment before it all went warm and squishy. And that's when he snatched her up by the ear and lugged her sharp back towards the boss's personal rooms while she wheedled and whined about " _ just wantin' some lovin'! _ " while the goons whose lives she had just saved stood gawping by uselessly.

 

\--

 

The door slamming behind her and the locks being thrown (all seven) were erotic sounds, as far as she was concerned. Her breathing was already coming hard as he picked a length of rope, but she was positively panting when she felt the prickle-rough through the thin fabric of her suit and squeeze tight enough to temporarily push the air from her lungs.

With a few flicks of his wrist, Harley could feel the knots constrict between her breasts and around the joints of her thighs, a baton set behind her knees, and pulling her to bend back ever so slightly with a gasp--oh! her clever Puddin' had so many skills, she couldn't help but be proud of him!

Before she could voice a single word of praise, he'd tossed her to kneel on a bit of plywood laid over a few sawhorses and pinned to several of them with daggers.

She couldn't predict the man, and she doubted anyone ever could... but most usually, the Joker would always move with a purpose, selecting his weapons as though he'd known well beforehand just what they would be and had them on hand. That their shared bedroom contained an ever-revolving merry-go-round of props for bits and schemes seemed to phase him not at all in his choices. He always made what was available perfect for the situation, as far as Harley Quinn was concerned.

First up, a set of throwing knives that had complemented the cardboard cutout of an officer of the law grabbed his attention. He picked up one of the set of four identical blades, tossing the weapon into the air casually, only to snatch it mid-spin and whirling to hold it to her throat. 

"Now, Puddin', don't be mad! I just--" Harley started to say but caught herself up short when he cut her off. 

"Shut up."

Not hollered or commanded, the blade no more a threat, it was just a simple statement of expectation. God help her, she could feel all of herself thrum beneath the elastic of her suit, crawling with want, and it only doubled when he began slicing away from the collar and she could feel the fine point of cool steel skim over her chest.

Her heart paused in its rhythm as the Joker placed the tip over her heart for a pensive moment, then sliced at the stretch of fabric between her breasts. The left breast neared escape, but her boss had already moved on to pulling the stitches along a patched shoulder.

"Aw, no, I just fixed this one up," she whimpered, pouted even, and then the flat of the blade was against her lips, braced by a lavender-gloved finger in a gesture of silence. 

"Can't you take an order?" 

"Oh, you know I can, Mistah J!" 

"Do I?" The blade wavered in its bloodthirsty nature again and started a run over the curve of her shoulder, splitting it open down the length of her arm. She gasped, glanced down and then up again as his blankest grin met her gaze. "Because that doesn't sound like you  _ shutting  _ your  _ mouth _ ."

As the edge of the knife came up to her face Harley honestly wasn't sure if he was actually annoyed or toying with her. Either way the throbbing pulse low in her belly seemed to not care a whit. She shook like a tripwire in a breeze as it dipped again to peel away her suit at the hip and back down her tense thigh.

And as much as she could moan and whimper feeling the air drawn over her skin after the knife, Harley didn't dare open her mouth to speak. Her boss-slash-lover set himself to giggling while tearing weakness in the only barrier between her bare skin and that metal warming against it.

When he was through, the damn thing hung in shreds between where the ropes held it to her body.

Wincing when she saw him no more interested in her than the toy he now brandished, she set about rectifying it. He was fingering the trigger on one of his lapel flowers, this one  a ludicrously oversized white daisy with a green center--and she paused to consider her life choices when she recognized it as the one where she'd diluted the vitriol with a bit of distilled water in a wild fit of self-preservation…. and felt a little disappointed. 

Well! nothing to do but what she always did in those odd and unsettling moments, Harley shook it off and flashed a breathless grin at her lover.

With her perky innocence sounding just about as genuine as a fourteen dollar bill, she asked, "Whatcha got there, Mistah J...?"

He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time, and the cold smile that lit up his face made her turn liquid from the inside out. The fact that he spoke not at all as he stalked towards her made it all the worse. Or better, depending on how she looked at it. Her quavering of unease seemed to be all that the Joker might need by way of encouragement and he took on his usual manner, one that was part one showman, one part sadist.The quiver ran deepest when he towered over her, fingers playing with the diffuser bulb.

"Just testing your ability to be quiet, Harley-girl… can you do that? For me, can't you?" The clownish extreme of his sincerity was enough to make her giggle and nod in agreement. "That's my girl...."

Lifting a finger to his lips, the Joker nodded in return, aimed the daisy with no small amount of expertise and let a testing squirt splatter across the rips in the suit over her shoulder, hitting fabric and all pale skin at once, and hoo-boy, could she feel the difference!

There was a squeal rising in her throat but those sick-keen eyes kept on her with a hunger and she swallowed it back. For her Puddin'. But, knowing she wouldn't be faulted for squirming and panting, Harley poured her energy into that as he slowly circled her and painted her body with an almost artistic kind of thoughtfulness.

A burn across her breasts with a tiny stream that hissed across her hypersensitive skin to hang off the tip of her nipple, smoldering like a cigarette cherry, and then dropping away and leaving that raw, open sting. All of it only to be replaced with a burst of tingling heat on her wrist.

Her panting turning to a soft giggle as she could feel more than just her heart melting; certainly wasn't her  _ heart  _ running down the inside of her thigh to mingle with the acid-water.

And yet, however admirably the Joker's moll had held up so far when that fifth splash of diluted vitriol splattered over the small of her back and ate down the curve of her exposed rear, she gave in. A scream busted out of her throat.

"Please! Mistah J!" she sobbed out, hanging her head and feeling the sweat drip off of her forehead, leaving a curl of blond caught on her brow. Immediately she caught her lip between her teeth, squinted, and set to repenting in complete, shivery silence. She waited and waited. But nothing came.

After forty seconds of harsh panting while she awaited a soaking in that biting half-acid, Harley opened her eyes and had to readjust her focus.

The Joker stood before her, daisy gone from his hands to god knew where, and instead was that throwing knife. His long fingers fondled the thick and rounded end with more eroticism than she'd seen most men handle their own gigglestick, and she found herself entranced, even as he approached her again.

With the knife tucked between his teeth, the Joker put a palm to her forehead, pushing Harley until she curved back. The rope around her waist dug in and up under her shoulder blades until she was forced into a shift of balance. She wanted to ask what was happening but didn't dare as the blade was now tracing the trajectory her pelvis made in the sharp convex bow down to her sex, just behind the tatters of her suit.

Then he ducked beneath the horizon of her view unless she changed her position, and she knew better than to do that.   
  
"B-baby?" Harley asked, trembling down to her vocal cords.   
  
"Shh. Shut up. Can you never just shut up for one minute?"

She could feel hot air on the cup of her thigh as he berated her and her inner lips twitched in wanting. Then, half-warmed metal slid between the folds of her flushed sex--thin but blunt--and let the wetness trapped there to weep down the blade. A sharp gasp as she felt the metal twist against her lips, flatten between them and press them open. Harley choked on a wordless noise that could have been a response or simply involuntary fear.   
  
"See? Always going on at the mouth! I, on the other hand--" The blade flipped again, drew away and suddenly she felt cold metal against her drooling slit. "Am a man of action."

Harley half screamed as she felt the stretch of the handle of the throwing knife against the begging ring of muscle. And he still wouldn't move. Her hips writhed but he moved in perfect time with them to keep her from sucking the handle into herself.

A sob caught in her throat, died, was reborn as a low whine and then, as he kept teasing and not giving, she set into babbling as she tried to writhe her hips against the unrelenting taunt of penetration, "Oh, yes! Oh, please!  _ Ah! _ Ah, please please please  _ please _ ! Puddin', baby, honey, darlin',  **_sir_ ** \--I  _ need _ it! Something! Anything Ah! Please,  **_yes_ ** ! Just  _ gimme!! _ "

And then... nothing. The push that was threatening to sink deep into her and set her into convulsions disappeared entirely. Her gushing of words replaced with a strangled scream of frustration. A grip between her breasts on the loop of rope holding her together drew her up to his face, lit up with an elated grin that both aroused and confused the poor woman.

" _ Puddin'?! _ "

"You just gave me a  _ wonderful _ idea, Harley-girl!" he exclaimed before he crushed her moue of confusion on her lips with the kind of joyful kiss that only a criminal enterprise would inspire in the Joker.

Setting her back onto her knees, he put the knife in his waistband and added, "Don't even think of moving an inch until I get back!" as he left.


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More violence, no sex. Harley just a'waiting at home...

"C'mon, boys, we have work ahead of us!" the Joker exclaimed, busting out the door after a long silence they were attempting to ignore--and that was even after they'd been ignoring the loud noises from the boss's girl.

 

They had settled into their seats for a game of poker, and so when the Clown Prince leapfrogged over the card table, sent their game flying and told them to come along, the three men looked at one another with confusion, but no intention of not following the order. Game was up, anyway.

 

They filed dutifully into the outrageous purple Caddy parked catty-corner to the hideout, guns and sluggers in hand. Lonnie took the shotgun seat in the land-yacht without taking into account the instruction that the dame had given him-- _ if you do not wish to perform the functions described in the event of an emergency, please stay the  _ hell _ out of my seat! _ \--and received the grin of the maniac in return.

 

"Big man!" the Joker said, clearly impressed with the pair on this thug, and handed the square-jawed refrigerator of a man a large bag. Pointing to it with a laugh, he added: "Bagman!"

 

He blinked in response, feigning a smile too late-- _ laugh, boys! It'll save your miserable li'l lives! _ \--and asked, "Where we goin', boss?" Lonnie asked.

 

The first mistake of the night.

 

"Remembered good ol' Gimme Jimmie and what a  _ good pal  _ he's been to ol' Yours' Truly lately," the Joker said, gripping the wheel, the laughter in his voice but not his eyes as he tore through the abandoned streets of the industrial district like a man recently insulted.   
  


"But, boss, if he's a friend--"

 

Martin leaned in over the gulf of the seat between him and the other mook. They'd been training with for two days and, unlike his probably-dead friend, here, Martin was shrewd enough to take the doll's advice. "I think he was bein' sarcastic, pal." 

 

Or maybe he could only hold so many instructions in his head at once. In any case, the Joker cleared him entirely of that problem, emptying Martin's head out like a canoe with a real hand-cannon of a gun.   
  
"Never," the Joker followed up the ear-bursting explosion that still reverberated through their eardrums and the frame of the land-yacht in a tone both grim and giggling, "Explain the joke, boys."

 

With Martin splattered across the starboard side of the Caddy, that left Lonnie to the brains that good God had blessed Davy with--which weren't a very good many--and the whole untold plan laid out before them as they received their lecture on the rules of comedy on the ride in complete silence.

 

The drive into the lot at Gimme Jimmie's didn't seem too far away from the Joker's hideout; busted up and broken down, the old factory had a bare bulb dangling over the door that flickered on and off, but mostly on. They both assumed the boss knew what he was doing when he hopped out of the car as easily as he had hopped into it, and tried to avoid what was left of Martin's gray matter as they followed after him.

 

One well-aimed kick with a black-and-white spat against the rickety metal door sent it off its hinges with a booming clang, followed by the ringing footsteps of the man who'd kicked it to death. Would have been a lot more ominous, too, if the thugs hadn't all but hunched their broad shoulders and tiptoed in after the lean gangster. 

 

"Look alive!!" the Joker exclaimed when the dust settled and all eyes were on him (just like it ought to be!). "Big spender, rolling through. Lookin' for the manager."

 

He strutted through the aisles between smoke-veiled tables as though it was a classy dinner party. Lonnie and Davy attempted to follow with an air of menace. Their sizes and builds did nothing to make up for their lack of experience with the Joker, whose chilling presence made them look like an afterthought (or collateral, depending on your point of view).

 

So, when good ol' Jimmie "Gimme" DeSoto realized who was robbing him, took one heavy belt of kiss-your-ass-goodbye whiskey, and forced himself to walk out of the manager's backroom, he was already sweating up a storm and sputtering about, "Big J! The J Man! Here to see li'l ol' Gimme Jimmie, huh?! Maybe feelin' a little lucky? Wanna see if I can win back some of them sums I still owe ya, Mr. Joker? Where, uh--where's the lovely missus…?" 

 

" _ All tied up! _ " the Joker replied enthusiastically, with a solitary cackle that rang through the sleazy, smoky room like it was as conducive as a belltower. And, if Davy had known any better, he might have left it that way. Instead, he missed out on the aforementioned dame's lessons in knowing when to  _ shut up _ and when to  _ laugh _ \--and followed it up with a forced bray of a laugh.

 

A death-soaked glare was shot over his shoulder before Jimmie brought the attention back to himself with a sudden whimper as the hand cannon that the Joker kept in his waistband made its appearance, and the gangster was nothing if not easily distracted.

 

The ridiculously long barrel came to tap between the dive-owner's eyes, barely saving the thug from the Joker's wrath.

 

"Sorry, Gimme, boy! Harley's not along for the ride tonight. She's my good-time girl, and--I hate to be the one to let you in on this--but… I'm not here to gamble, DeSoto….

 

"I'm here to  _ collect _ ."

 

The high-toned whistle-blast of the crazy gun going off coincided with the gangster's trademark gleeful laugh, followed by a chorus of screams and the sounds of scrambling towards the door.

 

"Aw, c'mon, now, you all wouldn't leave Jimmie holding the bill!"

 

He traipsed after the patrons of Gimme Jimmie's, pulling a large sack out from the inside of his coat, shoving it into Davy's hands and making a gesture for him to start collecting from the cowering crowd that hadn't made it out the door in time. Passing Lonnie, he patted every pocket in his violently violet suit and then shook his head.

 

"Looks like there's nothing for you to do, boyo. Sorry about that." The gun barely flashed before Lonnie joined the owner of the joint on the floor and the Joker turned his grin back onto the crowd. "Anybody else want to show me they've nothing to give me?"

 

Wallets and jewelry made miraculous appearances as Davy passed and he tried his hardest not to crack while his boss got wise with the corpses he'd just made.

 

\--

 

Davy was real glad when the boss had him drive home again, though he hadn't the guts to ask why it was. Apparently, sitting shotgun gave him the gift of gab that even the ride over to the roadside bar turned slaughterhouse hadn't even touched on. The boss was well into his fourth point on a list of however many he wanted when they found the pot-holey road back to the hideout. The whole drive, Davy kept his head down and nodded as frequently as he dared, chuckling here and there under his breath and more than once disguising it with a cough when he thought he'd gotten a bad reaction.

 

Seemed to please the Joker well enough, who had suddenly disappeared over the back of the seat and into the heavy bag filled with any trinket worth a damn in the whole place as they arrived.

 

"You did good tonight, new kid," the Joker was saying as Davy tried to pry his hands from the wheel of the Caddy. "Did as you were told, got the jokes…"

 

"Thanks, boss?" his voice lilting in an unsure question as he waited for permission to get the hell out, run home to his dump apartment over a bar and under a bowling alley and never, ever come back again.

 

"Ah, but your downfall, Dewey, boy…"

 

"Davy."

 

The Joker tutted as he resurfaced just behind Davy's head. Cold metal touched the back of his neck and the goose pimples that were already there got goose pimples.

 

"You interrupted a perfectly good bit. And for no good reason. No audience wants to wade through you breaking the pace!"

 

"I--"

  
  
"Exactly. Unteachable. Too sad… I thought you had talent.  _ Hah _ !!"

 

Two blood stains on the Caddy, but a song in his heart, the Joker returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever but apparently shifting gears into non-smut is difficult for me. To make up for it, I'll be posting the final chapter tonight, since it's already done.


	3. Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the denouement....!

For the next three hours, Harley waited. Certainly not quietly, nor patiently--not to mention not wholly voluntarily neither--but she waited for him as he'd asked nonetheless.

 

In the first hour, she'd called and struggled fruitlessly until she realized that he'd taken the goons with him. Still, though her voice had broke after crying in frustration for a good ten minutes into the hour, she carried on valiantly. Sobbing loudly and hoping that it was all a big tease was the second stage of her denial, lasting a good twenty minutes as she struggled against expertly-tied knots and the remnants of acid drying on her skin.

 

Despite the rope roughing the skin where the fabric had slipped away in her wriggling and burning muscles forced to hold a relatively inflexible pose, her achy-wanting sex hadn't given up hope until well into the second hour. She knew the raw feeling of the chemical burns would take so much longer, and her whole body sang with pain and completely unused pleasure….. At which point, she began her wailing in earnest.

 

By the time she neared the end of the third hour, with Harley's voice breaking under bitter crying and the occasional struggle to keep blood in her limbs and also obey her boss's orders. Ah, she didn't even have to catch a glimpse of herself in the funhouse mirror leaned against the wall to know she looked an utter wreck; her pancake makeup streaked and muddied, and her blue eyes brighter than ever against bloodshot whites--and that was when he came back.

 

Always with an entrance, the Joker threw open the door and, clicking his heels as he leapt through it, landed with a spin and a smile.

 

"Baby! You came ba--!"

 

She was silenced with a single finger held up in caution as he turned from her. Harley obeyed immediately, despite the agonies wracking her. 

 

He was whistling a tune that she couldn't quite place; she watched as the Joker tossed a bag of what seemed to be coinage on the table next to the implements he'd forgotten when he had left, and practically skipped over to her.

 

Realizing she had expected him to not remember leaving her behind, Harley was left momentarily speechless to see him very intent on her. That burning drive behind his eyes that only she ever seemed to see, like being hunted, targeted, intensely focused upon to the point where she felt like she might burst into flames.

 

A whimper escaped her and he quirked his head. "What was that?"

 

"Nothing!" she croaked, her voice harsher than she'd even expected. "Nothing, Mistah J!"   
  
"Still haven't learned how to shut," he said,  took up the separator bar holding her knees apart in a fist and fluidly hooked her to the aerial rigging installed into the ceiling, then leaned far down, until she could feel the tip of his nose against her own. " _ Up _ ."

 

Harley squealed as she lifted up off the board by the ankles, slamming down onto her chest on the knife throwing backboard, and rolled forward onto her breasts. Crushing them against the painted plywood only added to that sudden burst of adrenaline, breathing life back into that coldness inside her stomach and sparking the ashes to life again.

 

"You're lucky, though. That idea you had was a good one. Lots of fun…

 

"So I'll tell you what! As I'm a generous man…" He circled her, his prey panting and struggling to find a comfortable position. There was none. The Joker smiled, continued, "I'll repay the kindness with a little lesson in The Golden Rule for my clever, little girl."

 

Already her breath was coming short, and though that could easily be attributed to the position she was in that rivaled some of the tougher acrobatics of her life, Harley knew well it was almost entirely that she was impossibly bent and intimately bared before the man she loved most. And that threat--which was normally meant to instill fear--just made her quiver.

 

All but drooling, she watched the Joker remove his constant pair of gunpowder-burnt lavender gloves with a bite and a sharp tug, baring spidery hands covered in gunpowder burns and silvery slivers of scars networking over his ashen skin. The moan that escaped her mouth at the reveal didn't even register until she saw those delicious hands clench in irritation and he closed the space between them, coming to stand between her topsy-turvied knees. The texture of the fingertips against her cool, wet skin made her go silent but for hope.

 

"Hmm. Plenty slick still, my babydoll, but cold," he hummed, his showman's voice back. Harley tried not to flex towards his hands as they disappeared from stroking along the inside of her wilted sex. She heard him snap his fingers as if he'd not decided on this idea before he'd put her in her current shape. "I know! I'll warm her up again!"

 

Harley could catch the glint of copper wrapped around his left-hand ring finger as his hands passed up out of her view, and a kind of hard up panic wound up her throat. The joy buzzer's involvement meant a different kind of business, and she had to try in earnest to hold back her choked yelp as he spread open her sex with an exploratory touch.

 

That buzzer had killed more than a handful of men and women she'd seen, and a few dozen she'd never been witness to personally, so why did the feel of the small, cool disc brushing over her mound make her whole sex light up like a Christmas tree? Holding her breath, she felt the tip of the deadly copper button skim over her clit and felt it perk up in attention with no hesitation.

 

The doctor Harleen Quinzel, in that moment, briefly considered genuinely seeking professional help for what could not be even vaguely considered mental health--but then all thought blasted from her mind into a staticky, white world of ripping pain and tearing pleasure and thoughtlessness in the most sublime idiocy.

 

And when she came back to her senses, her throat felt rawer than ever and she was whimpering while the Joker cackled with sheer glee at the reaction her sex had to the abuse. He would spread her in a V between his fingers, hum thoughtfully and then burst into another little giggle as he made her wait for the next electroshock to her flushing mound.

 

Three more episodes of that, the intensity never changing or normalizing for her, and she was shaking without any rhythm or restraint but the ropes that barely held her in shape. 

 

The final time she came to a still-delirious consciousness, Harley was mindlessly begging for mercy until, mid-word, her point of view gave her a glimpse of the outline of his sex straining against the loose cut of his slacks. Wordlessly, the bound woman cooed as though she'd been bestowed someone else's heirloom jewelry, ignoring even the way his rough-textured fingertips kneaded at her entrance.

 

Manic laughter of empty joy stopping short, he cleared his throat and looked down to where her line of vision stopped.   
  
"Hah! Whaddayaknow," he marveled a moment at the rare occurrence in their bedroom and then burst into a laugh that seemed a bit more introspective than the average.

 

Harley would have giggled too, but the sight of him drawing down his zipper and slipping his sex out--thick-to-tapered, pale skin mottled in reds and purples and looking like nothing less than sheer heaven to her. Licking her lips, she whimpered just as he moved out of reach.

 

"Now then, my little laugh track," the Joker said affectionately, slowly fitting the near-violet crown of his hard cock against her pussy and setting her to vibrating in anticipation. "You can talk all you want!"

 

As her beloved madman pressed into her in a long and slow stroke and her body sucked his dick into her, Harley Quinn veritably fell apart. Sobbing and stumbling over her words while her hips writhed erratically (and uselessly) to bring him deeper, she pleaded for release through a show of gratitude.

 

"Oh, oh, oh, my  _ God _ , Mistah J! Thank you, sir! Thank you, baby honey darlin'!! Ahn, it feels--

 

A quarter of an inch.

 

"Aahh! Ahh! It's so hot and- and- and my clit is gonna explode!! Mistah J! Please, Mistah, it feels so-- nnh! 

 

An inch and the wet pop of him sinking in past the widest part of the crown of his cock.

 

"Oh, God! Aw, God! God, please, m-more, ah, thank you, sir!  _ Thank  _ you,  _ baby _ !

 

A push. Three inches, falter to four, stumble into five.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you--"  and Harley's spiraling crescendo fell headlong into coherence, her whole body contracting up into a rigid, choking and utterly wracking orgasm around him before he could even delve to the base of his cock.

 

The Joker waited very patiently for her to finish choking, clenching and screaming around him before slipping out of her wrung-out body and placing his sex back in his pants with little more fanfare than a broad and cold leer. Freeing her more slowly than he'd roped her--it was never his forté, releasing the damsel in distress--he didn't wait for the shivers and aftershocks still shaking her to pull her to her feet.

 

"Now then, my best girl, say, what's the matter with you?" he said, shaking her shoulder with a laugh. "Look like you've been knocked silly! Stand up straight! We've got goodies to count!"

 

Her response was a weak, "ah hah hah,  _ yeah _ ," before Harley staggered three steps and collapsed into a swoon on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mega thanks to everyone who's beta'd, commented and kudos'd. Teamwork makes the dream work!


End file.
